


The Rising Sun

by orphan_account



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-31
Updated: 2004-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watari & Tatsumi have a conversation the morning after the events of the Kyoto Arc. (Spoilers for the anime-version of the Kyoto Arc.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rising Sun

It was the Meifu dawn that first saw Tatsumi the morning after Kyoto. The silent figure stood staring out onto the cherry trees, one hand pressed against the frame of a large picture window in his office and the other hanging at this side. He was somewhat reassured by the feeling that Tsuzuki and Hisoka were only a few rooms away sleeping in the infirmary.

His hands twitched at the thought of the two shinigami, wanting the accuracy of numbers and sums beneath them, the power of grasping unquestioning shadows. His hands held memories of touch that he hadn’t thought about in years, didn’t want to think about at that moment.

The hand at his side clenched and his fingers tensed against the cold metal of the window frame tightly. His hands had understood Tsuzuki much better than his mind ever had.

“The tension in here could wake the dead,” remarked a dry voice from the doorway, followed by a few advancing footsteps that stopped at a safe distance. Tatsumi just sighed.

“Watari-san. What time is it?”

“Four o’clock in the morning,” came Watari’s prompt response, “according to the clock on your desk.”

“Aa,” Tatsumi replied, and turned around. The look on his face said that as day broke, he knew he had to face the world eventually, and was not looking forward to it. He was feeling stubborn though, and would have happily spent the next quarter century staring out of the window in what appeared to be a comatose state, vapidly contemplating the cherry blossoms. Instead he sat down in his chair with another sigh and took off his glasses, facing Watari. Not a good gesture for the secretary to make at all. Watari took note of it and retreated back half a step.

The glasses were folded neatly and set on the desk in front of him. The eyes that regarded Watari were tired and world weary, a deep blue frozen by grief. Grief for what, Watari couldn’t be sure. Tatsumi was never liberal with his innermost thoughts, particularly where Tsuzuki was concerned.

“You should go home,” Watari ventured, belying how serious he was with a casual shrug of one shoulder and a raise of his eyebrows. “I am in-part responsible for the health of JuOhCho employees, after all.”

“And yourself?” Tatsumi replied, studying the scientist in front of him. He was doing a very good job of simultaneously diverting attention away from himself and making light of Tatsumi’s dark mood.

“Do I ever go home?” he joked with a little smile aimed at the floor, shrugging. “Tsuzuki and Hisoka are on my watch, and I’ll worry about the aftereffects of Kyoto. It is my section after all.” This all sounded reasonable, but Tatsumi knew from experience that Watari had a way of phrasing things to make them sound very rational. Upon further inspection however, if one stood back and really thought about what he said, they may be inclined to argue. Tatsumi was so inclined this time.

This observation earned a pinch of the bridge of his nose and eyes closed in thought. He could feel Watari’s bright amber gaze on him, studying his face for signs of exhaustion.

“I knew something was wrong,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could catch them and wrap them back into the tightly locked confines of his heart. “Before he left, he said something strange to me. But I didn’t understand at the time.”

Watari’s gaze flickered and became sympathetic, but he didn’t speak. Just relaxed and took a seat in the chair across from Tatsumi’s desk, casually propping his head on one hand and leaning to the side a little. He looked exhausted, but ready to listen.

There was a short silence though and Watari became uneasy, absentmindedly rubbing some soot caused by Touda off of the back of his hand. His head felt weighty and cumbersome, and he blinked heavily. This time, it was Tatsumi who had his eyes on the quiet man in front of him. As wrapped up in his projects as he was, Tatsumi knew the scientist wasn’t blind. He had most likely figured out that Tatsumi’s concern for Tsuzuki went beyond that of a co-worker for his fellow comrade. However, he wondered if the other man had realized that it also wasn’t the concern of a man for his lover. At least not now.

Watari met Tatsumi’s eyes quite suddenly and they looked at each other, recognizing the common fatigue between them, both in body and mind. Kyoto had been rougher than either wanted to admit.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Watari finally said, his voice clear and resolute. He stood restlessly for a moment, adjusting the lab coat he had slung on earlier as if it could somehow protect him. Before Tatsumi could respond, he lifted his finger and made a circling gesture. “Turn around?”

Tatsumi raised an eyebrow in question at him, but did as asked as he turned sideways in his chair. Watari came around the desk to stand behind him. He jumped a little as the other man’s hands made contact with his back, but allowed the touch even as his shoulders reflexively tensed.

“Tatsumi-san,” he said sternly, moving his fingers deftly against Tatsumi’s shoulder blades and into the tender muscle that lay behind the bone, “your entire body is wound up as tightly as a spring.”

A small silence stretched out between them, charged with a mixture of appreciation and apprehension. Watari’s gaze wandered from the back of the secretary’s head to look out the window where he had originally found the other man staring off into the distance. It was beginning to lighten outside, the sky turning a decidedly raw shade of pink that was flecked with small, receding clouds. Despite the color, it looked cold; he could see the cherry trees below shiver as a sudden breeze blew by the JuOhCho building.

“I didn’t understand in time,” Tatsumi finally said, his voice hushed. The words came from between gritted teeth. “It was due to my own incompetence that Tsuzuki was almost killed.” His head fell forward a little and his gaze was riveted at the floor, though Watari’s hands remained steady, coaxing out the knots and kinks in his back.

“Tsuzuki planned to take his own life,” Watari replied as gently as he could, then smoothed his hands lower and around Tatsumi’s waist until he was embracing him from behind. “A man’s will cannot be changed.”

“Hisoka...” he whispered, not making any move to remove Watari’s arms that were now wrapped around the normally stubborn, reserved man.

“Bon,” Watari began as if anticipating this response, using his own affectionate title for the younger shinigami, “said he wouldn’t allow it, not that he planned to change Tsuzuki’s mind.” Pausing, he drew back and away from Tatsumi who let out a sharp breath as he felt Watari’s warmth receding.

“He was ready to die too, if Tsuzuki hadn’t relented,” he said, shaking his head. He would have been sorely discouraged to see two of his closest friends succumb to their own labyrinth of guilt and psychological pain, but he also understood that Hisoka and Tsuzuki had been inextricably linked together the moment they had met. That much was obvious.

Tatsumi whirled around to face him and stood up all in one motion, something terribly bright burning in his eyes that looked like a cross between fury and intense guilt. His mouth opened with words poised on his lips, he didn’t say anything as he saw Watari’s pained look. Witnessing Watari in distress was sobering.

In all the years he’d worked for the JuOhCho division, no one had ever spoken to Tatsumi in such a frank manner about his relationship with Tsuzuki, and especially not Watari. No one had ever seen into the inner workings of Tatsumi’s mind so clearly either, and it unnerved him.

He faced the other man now, regarding him with eyes that were empty of anything save desperation. He despised himself, his own lack of understanding, saw his misinterpretation of Tsuzuki’s will as a flaw in judgment. Watari frowned at him.

“No one can predict a man’s will...” he latched both hands onto Tatsumi’s shoulders as if to shake some sense into him, but instead of stopping at the shoulders, he suddenly found his arms wrapped around the other man’s tense body. He wasn’t aware of his actions until he realized that Tatsumi was pressed against him, chest to chest, not saying a word but not pulling away. “...You can only wait for him to come around,” he finished his thought with more breath than voice.

All the time, Tatsumi’s hands had hung limply at his sides. Now, they came up as if thinking no one would notice the way they snaked around Watari, followed the curvature of his ribs and joined again at his back. From his slightly taller vantage point, Tatsumi angled his gaze down just past Watari’s curious eyes but didn’t reply, merely let himself hold and be held. Those eyes were looking at him, studying his expression, but they asked no questions.

“Seiichirou...” Watari said softly into Tatsumi’s shoulder, and received a small twitch of surprise from the body he held.

“No one has called me that in a long time,” Tatsumi replied, his voice becoming more hushed with each word until it was nothing more than a whisper. He could feel Watari’s fingers stroking his hair.

“The sun is almost up,” he managed to say, his voice edged by dread. Watari’s fingers stilled, falling back to their position at his back and not moving. _I’m not ready for it to be tomorrow._ The words hung unspoken in the air, but Watari felt them.

He rested his forehead against Tatsumi’s shoulder, pushing his face against it so his words were muffled. “No one can control the rising and setting of the sun.”

Tatsumi’s grip on him tightened, and he was ready to pull away when he felt something brush his temple through the hair that had escaped from the ribbon he’d haphazardly tied into it. Then he felt it again, and he knew it was Tatsumi’s lips.

“Wait with me,” he said, and Watari spoke no more.


End file.
